


Grindstone 2: First Edge

by Grey (grey853)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Series: Grindstone, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 04:31:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey853/pseuds/Grey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the second part of the series, Blair suffers a setback in his recovery and Jim still struggles with personal demons.<br/>This story is a sequel to Grindstone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grindstone 2: First Edge

## Grindstone 2: First Edge

by Grey

Author's webpage: <http://grey.ravenshadow.net/>

* * *

Author's disclaimer: I don't own the guys, but they don't seem to mind being borrowed.

Author's Notes and Warnings: In this part of the story Jim touches on some disturbing repressed memories which may explain his reluctance to a physical relationship with the man he loves. Approach with caution. 

* * *

"Need any help in there, Chief?" Jim called from the kitchen, his voice deeper than usual, weighted with concern. 

"No, man. Thanks. I can handle it." 

"You sure?" 

"Jim, stop. Pour me some coffee or something, man. I'll be out in a minute." 

"Sure, okay." Jim reached up, got the mugs, and started setting the table for breakfast, still wary as time passed with no appearance of his partner. His hearing didn't make it easier as he picked up the involuntary grunts and groans as Blair finished shaving and getting ready for his first day back at the university. The sudden hitch of breathing brought Jim to the bathroom door in a hurry. "Chief?" 

"No, it's okay, man. Just caught me by surprise, that's all. Shit. Oh, man. Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Help." The word barely limped, tiny and wounded, through tight lips into the air. 

Jim pushed open the door to find his guide stuck with his arm up, suspended with his T-shirt not quite pulled down over his head. Dark curls pushed halfway through the hole, the young man could've been a bad piece of modern sculpture. Immediately, he stepped over, pulled the top down over Blair's face and then covered the still discolored back with soft grey cotton. Carefully he placed a supporting hand against the spine and the other on the arm. "What do you want me to do here, Chief?" 

"Is mercy killing still illegal?" 

"Not funny, Sandburg." 

"I'm not laughing here, Jim." Blair's teeth clenched and held tightly to the words. The spasms ran the length of the right side of his back setting off another series of twitches against Jim's hand. 

"Let me help you sit down. Work with me here, Chief. Move you feet toward the toilet." 

"Shit. It hurts." 

"I know. Now, just take shallow breaths, slow and easy. They'll stop if you don't tense up." 

"Fuck don't tense up. Shit." Awkward movements from feet shuffling backwards brought on a string of breathy curses. Easing him down, still supporting his back, Jim let Blair take the lead to finally lower his arm. After a few minutes, the tremors lessened and his partner sat there, sweaty, pale, and already exhausted. 

"You okay?" 

"Not really. I hate this shit. It's been two whole weeks for christsakes. Why is this still happening?" 

Pushing back the damp curl clinging to his partner's cheek, Jim asked, "I know it seems like forever, but it's ONLY been two weeks. You took some mighty big blows to the back as well as to the chest. The bruises are still huge." 

"I know, but it's not getting any better. It hurts even worse now than before." 

"Just give yourself a little more time, Chief. You're were supposed be resting, taking it easy, and you've been trying to move around like normal." 

"Normal? Not hardly. All I do is sleep or sit at the computer all day." 

"I suppose doing research at the library or going to the grocery when I told you not to doesn't count?" 

"I swear if you throw an I told you so at me, I'm going to get really pissed, Jim." 

"I'm not going to do that, but I did say you should rest more. You're just so damn stubborn." 

"Coming from Mr. I'll do it my way or else Ellison, that's pretty damn rich." He paused as he worked at regular breathing before he added, "Just don't push it, Jim, okay. I feel bad enough." 

"I know. I'm sorry. Look, you see the doctor again tomorrow. Maybe he can give you a more realistic time table and tell you what to expect. Did you take your Flexeril this morning?" 

"I didn't want to, but, yeah, I did. I took it along with a Percocet. They just haven't kicked in yet." 

"Just give it a little more time to work before you start moving around next time." 

"I didn't want to take them at all, man, but I could barely get out of bed. I figured I'd better take them if I'm going to be standing most of the morning. The thing is I know they're going to make me goofy. I can just see myself in the middle of Anthro 101 suddenly start talking about the cultural influence of TV and about my childhood on the back of the toilet flushing my way along in my supermobile." 

"Weren't you doing that just last night, Chief?" 

"Not funny, man. This shit makes me act crazy." 

"But a cute kind of crazy." 

Not the least bit amused, the younger man made a face and gave him the finger. Squatting down, his hand resting very lightly on Blair's shoulder, Jim talked quietly. "I'm sorry, Chief. I know you're hurting here. Maybe you should take a longer leave like the doctor suggested. Alan said he can handle your classes until you're ready. Somehow not being able to dress yourself doesn't sound ready." 

Blair met his partner's anxious gaze and shook his head. "Look, I know you're worried, Jim, but I'll be okay. I can't just lie around while there's so much to do." He touched the older man's cheek, cupping the side of his face gently. "I mean, you've been so patient already, waiting, you know. Bet when you said you loved me, you didn't expect to still be sleeping alone all this time." 

The soft touch hammered home the power of their connection. Jim closed his eyes, soaking in the heat from his guide's hand, each whorl of a finger tip a memory branded to his own skin. He turned his head, kissing the palm as he answered, his voice thick with unexpected emotion. "Blair, I love you. Waiting isn't a problem. I'd wait forever." 

"Bite your tongue, man." 

"I'd rather bite yours." 

A large smile brought the spark back to the young man's dark blue eyes. "Oh, yeah, tease me when I can't bite back. You're going to pay for that, man." 

"Promise?" 

"You bet, but for now I'll settle for just getting some breakfast. Now, help me up." 

Using both hands, Jim took an arm while still supporting Blair's back until the smaller man stood steady. "Okay. Let me finish in here and I'll be out in a minute." 

"Thought we already did this scene." 

"Yeah, but maybe this time I can make it out to the table without turning into a pretzel." 

Jim looked down at Blair's bare feet and then back up at his partner's strained face. "Then you'd better let me put on your shoes this time." 

Frowning with an instant replay memory of his futile and painful efforts from the day before, Blair grumbled. "Man, this is a real drag." 

"You don't like me at your feet, Chief?" 

"Don't make jokes, Jim. This is serious. I NEED to get better. I hate being dependent." 

Realizing the strength of emotion behind the words, Jim studied his partner more intently. "I don't mind taking care of you, Chief." 

"You don't understand, Jim. It's not that I don't appreciate it, but I really don't like it when some has to do these kinds of things. It's embarrassing." 

"It shouldn't be." 

"Well, it is. I go to brush my teeth and, bam, I've got this stabbing pain up my back. I go to put on my shoes and I'm stuck all bent over until the paralyzing spasms go away. I'm helpless, frozen like some kind of freak or something. It sucks, man. Big time." "I don't get it. You take care of other people with no problem. Why isn't it okay to accept help when you need it? How's that work?" 

"Jim, just go fix the coffee, man. We'll talk about this later. I have to be at school in an hour and my traveling speed's been severely screwed." 

"As long as we talk later." 

"Sure. Tonight. Whenever." As Jim headed toward the kitchen, he heard the sound of water running, plastic against ceramic, the comb running through thick hair. He busied himself finishing up the cooking while the dull ache of misgiving scratched at the back door of his brain. Locking it away, he assured himself with the details of living that soon his guide's pain would go away. He ignored the ribbons of worry weaving though his troubled thoughts, the fears hiding off to the far edges of his conscious awareness. 

Blair came and sat down at the table, easing himself slowly into the chair. He picked up the mug and drank, his eyes closing in an appreciative appraisal of the brew's magic wand to his system. "God, I love this stuff." 

"Yeah, I noticed. So, how are you going to get to the university today? Someone picking you up or do you want me to drive you?" 

Opening only one eye, Blair peeked over at his partner. "What? I thought I'd just drive myself." 

"Not while you're on pain meds you're not. Besides, what would happen if you had a bad spasm while you were driving?" 

Sighing deeply, resigned to the reason, but not happy, Blair put down his cup. "I didn't really think about it. Maybe you could give me a ride over on the way to the station." 

"How are you getting home?" 

"I thought I'd have somebody bring me downtown later. I could help you finish up on that Phelps case. Didn't you say you had some more statements to take from his sister or something?" 

Jim put a plate of toast and eggs on the table and then poured them both some juice. "Blair, by the time you teach both classes, you're going to probably need to come home and rest. I can handle the Phelps case on my own. I won't be going out in the field much since I'm going to have Dana Phelps come in to make her statement. Plus, I've got a couple of paper trails to follow. You don't have to be there." 

Pushing the scrambled eggs around his plate, but not eating, Blair finally just put down the fork. "Are you sure you don't need me?" 

"I didn't say I didn't need you. I just said it's okay for you to get some rest while it's slow at work." 

He drank some more coffee and then ran his tongue along his lower lip. "Man, it feels like I swallowed a desert or something. My mouth's dry no matter how much I drink." Turning his attention back to Jim, he nodded. "Why don't we just wait and see how I feel. By this afternoon, I could be as good as new. I mean, I'm already starting to feel a whole lot better, downright pleasant, in fact." 

Jim shook his head while he finished his toast. "You've got no tolerance for drugs, my friend." 

"Sure I do. I tolerate them better and better all the time. Gotta get the hang of it though, sort of like archery." 

"Archery? You playing Robin Hood again, Chief?" 

"God, I don't know how I could love such a smartass. Must be your body or something shallow like that. Anyway, it's like how you don't just shoot directly at the target because of how the arrow arches up and then down. Well, it's sort of like that when I'm using this stuff." 

"You're losing me, Chief." 

"Okay, it's like if I go to get the fork directly, I miss it, but if I aim just to the left, my hand gets it just right. Everything's off kilter, you know, but I'm figuring it out." 

Jim never took his eyes off his partner while he finished his toast and then wiped his mouth. The conversation made his own muscles ache from tension. "Well, don't learn to deal with it too much, Chief. You know that stuff can be addictive. It's only for the first few weeks." 

"I know, but I only plan to use it to get through the rough spots. Don't worry. As soon as this back shit stops, I'll be good as new and then we can start doing what two men in love should really be doing." 

Jim spit into his orange juice. "Damn, Chief. One of these days you're going to choke me to death by saying something like that without warning." 

Tilting his head just a little, his eyes just a tad out of focus, Blair's grin brightened his face. "Man, when I decide to choke you, it won't be with juice." 

Instead of blushing, Jim paled. "Chief, just stop, okay." 

"What's wrong?" 

"Nothing." Jim walked to the sink, taking the plates with him. He ran some soapy water, his whole chest suddenly too tight for breathing. 

Arms snaked around his middle, and a forehead rested against his spine. "Jim, I'm sorry. I know you warned me. My brain blinked again." 

Swallowing hard to hide his own discomfort, Jim stopped doing the dishes before turning to take the younger man in his arms. "No reason to be sorry, Blair. It's my problem, not yours. I love you and you shouldn't have to worry about saying sexy things. It's just, well, you know I'm not really comfortable about that yet. It's not your fault." 

Blair rubbed his face against Jim's chest, nuzzling, his voice sleepy. "It's my problem, too. We're in this together. I'm just a horny little bastard sometimes and I forget that not everybody runs his mouth like I do. I swear when this back thing is better, we're going to have a great time, Jim. I just know you're going to love it once you try it." 

Lengthening his embrace, Jim moved back and then lifted Blair's chin. "It's you I love, Blair, not the sex." Lips pressed to a full mouth gently, feathery soft, a breath and slick tongue tip sealing just the whisper of a kiss. He then stared down at the stunned face of his guide. 

"Damn, Jim, my lips just went numb. Let's do that again, want to?" 

Laughing at the eager face, the detective turned and directed Blair to the couch, both hands on the back of his shoulders. "God, you're so easy, Chief. Now, come on. I have to get your shoes on, and then it's off to work." 

Reluctantly moving, the younger man pouted. "Well, all I can say, man, is thank god the muscle relaxants work all over, or you'd be in really big trouble." 

"I hear that." 

* * *

Back throbbing, Blair carried his backpack by his side. The truck ride over to the university served as a reminder that though he loved Jim, the man couldn't drive worth shit. 

"Hey, Blair, it's good to see you." A young man, blond hair cut short, gold ring in the left ear, waved a hand from the doorway. 

"Alan, thanks. It's good to be back, I guess." 

"Yeah, well, I hate to tell you, man, but you are like in for like a major kick in the ass this morning. Here, let me take that into your office before you drop it." The fellow grad student snatched up Blair's bag and carried it while he spoke. His square face, high cheek bones, smooth skin made for a handsome effect. The light hazel eyes twinkled with a serious intellect that focused directly on his companion. The smile that normally made his face light up a room, however, stayed missing. 

"What's going on, man?" 

"Dean Hardin. The man's on some trip about paper work and efficiency reports. The man is like so fucking incredible. Anyway, he put out this notice about a meeting this afternoon and all the TA's are supposed to be there with records in hand. I haven't even started yet. I'm really glad you can take your own classes again." 

Blair eased himself down to the chair, each arm braced to settle easy without jarring. Even with the medication, the dull ache reached to the bone. Holding himself rigid to avoid extra movement only added to the tension and the building general weariness that permeated his brain down through his neck to his rear and even his legs. The more he tried not to acknowledge the pain, the more it needled his body to remind him. 

"I appreciate you taking over for me, man. I don't know what I would've done the last couple of weeks without you." 

"No problem. Really. I mean, I owed you big time after last spring when you covered for me after Amy got sick. I would've lost my grant if you hadn't helped me out." 

"Well, we're even. So, Hardin's got a hard on about what again?" 

"He wants us to bring copies of all our records in, syllabus, lesson plans, tutorial schedules, just paper shit, you know. Wants to run us through hoops to see if we jump high enough, I guess, to see if we're earning all the big bucks the school's paying for us to teach their fucking classes." 

"Man, I don't know if I've got all that shit together or not." A slow panic tightened up his shoulders as he turned to his desk stacked with folders. 

"Don't worry, Blair. Your lesson plans were fantastic." 

"I don't have a clue where the tutorial sheet is though." 

"Settle down, man. It's all there. I've taken over a lot of classes and yours are unbelievably well-organized. You should write a fucking book or something. All the shit's lined up and ready to go--lecture, supplements and backgrounds, assignments, rubrics for grading. I stepped in, no problem. It was great. My only deal was the students hated that you weren't there to give the lectures. They love you, man. Pretty cool." 

Blair missed half the monologue as he closed his eyes and drifted. His friend's words struck his hearing and then ricocheted straight away. 

"Hey, Blair, you with me, man?" 

"What?" 

"Man, you're completely out of it. What are you taking?" 

"Just some stuff for my back. I'm a little fuzzy here." 

"No shit. Look, man, maybe you shouldn't be here." 

"I'm fine. Really. Could use some more coffee though." Blair started to get up, but found a quick arm on his shoulder. 

"No, stay put. I'll get it." While his friend stepped to the coffee maker already in action, Blair swallowed several times trying to add a little spit to lubricate his tongue. His throat burned from the extra effort of gulping dry air. "Here. Drink this. Watch. It's hot." 

Reaching to take the cup, Blair realized too late his contrary hand would miss. The scalding liquid went across his leg while the mug crashed to the floor. Delayed sensory signals switched wet cloth to a blast of fire up his nerves to the brain and then his mouth. "Fuck." 

"Shit, Blair." Alan hurriedly got him up and standing to pull at the baggy pant leg to get it away before damaging more skin. "Are you okay, man? Is it burned?" 

The flush of heat radiating up his thigh didn't bother him half as much as the pinching, stab combination going up across his back. Biting on his lip, holding one hand on Alan's shoulder for balance, the other to his own back, he tried talking without chewing off any part of his tongue. "I'm okay. Clumsy as hell, but okay. Damn." 

"It's okay, man. Look. I think you should go home. No offense, man, but you're stoned out of your head here." 

"I'll be all right, Alan. I just need to sit for a minute to get my thinking straight." 

"In this century?" 

"Funny, man." Staring down at the now cooler, but dark stain ruining his jeans, he asked, "You got a spare pair of pants around somewhere?" 

"Sure. I've got some sweatpants over in my office." 

"Could you get them for me? My class is in 20 minutes." 

"Blair, man, sitting in your office stoned is one thing. Teaching while under the influence is another. They're going to know there's something wrong." 

Blair struggled to match the words to the thoughts playing hide and seek in his head. "I appreciate it, Alan, but I'm fine. I can do this. Besides, you've done enough." 

Alan raised his hands in surrender and stood up from the edge of the desk. "Whatever, man. I'll go get the sweat pants. The papers for the lecture are right there under the class roster. Personally, I think you're crazy, but then again, you're the man who still believes in special senses and shit. Goes with the territory, right?" The smile flashed and blurred, playing with the limited range of Blair's vision. 

"Thanks, man." 

As soon as his friend left, Blair started to sort through the papers. He turned, stared, and forgot what he wanted. "Shit. This is going to fun." Scratching his head, he tried to read the cover on one of the folders. The letters faded in and out, danced, and never stayed still. "Man, where are my glasses?" 

Patting down his pockets, he leaned over to get his backpack only to have a flash of blue lightning sizzle up his spine, blacking out all sight, all sound except for the rush of roaring drowning out the world around him. The edge of the desk sliced at the far reaches of his awareness as he went down, crumpled and tangled up in his own body. 

* * *

"So is this the last file on the Wilson case?" 

"Should be. The owner of the store signed his statement. We should be able to get a conviction as long as the clerk doesn't claim she was possessed by the devil when she shot him or something. Kid's weird as hell, but able to stand trial." 

Simon glanced up over the top of his glasses and gave an unamused stare. "Is that your medical opinion, Dr. Ellison?" 

Smiling lightly, Jim shrugged. "Only if it would stand up in court. Otherwise, we'll have to see if her attorney wants to play that hand or not. It's ready for the DA to worry about at this point." 

Signing the last paper and closing the file, Simon sat back in his chair. "Want some coffee before you talk to Phelp's sister?" 

"Sure." Jim sat on the edge of the table across from his captain's desk while pinching the bridge of his nose. For a sentinel staring at papers should be easier, but he found most of the time it just gave him a headache. 

Simon handed him the mug and asked, "Did I hear you tell Brown that Sandburg went back to work today?" 

"Yeah. I think it's too early, but you know how it is." Jim took a deep sip and enjoyed the fact that his superior had good taste in special blends. 

"Kid has a mind of his own, that's for damn sure." Simon took out a cigar and proceeded to light it with great care. "So, Jim, how are things with you now?" 

"Is this the checking in to see if I'm sober, Captain, or should I get ready for another lecture on my personal life?" He didn't mean it to come out quite so biting, but the words spiked the air between them. 

"I don't deserve that, Jim." The older man locked his hands before him, his intense expression clearly painted with hurt. 

Running his tongue under his lower lip, Jim nodded. "You're right, Simon. I'm sorry. I'm just still pretty off balance lately. This whole thing with Blair has kind of thrown me." 

"Jim, I know I'm your captain, but I'd like to know as your friend if you're really all right." 

"I'm better." Jim raised his head, his blue eyes meeting the dark pair studying him. "Blair and I, we've talked. We're working through some stuff, but with his accident, things just sort of got put on hold." 

"Things meaning?" 

"Meaning that we both love each other, but we're going to go slow, nothing physical until we're both ready." 

Banks cleared his throat, took some time to drink a little coffee, and then asked, "So, you're really going to do this relationship thing with Sandburg?" 

"Yeah, I guess so. Lord knows I did my best to avoid it, sir, but it's either him or the bottle. I couldn't seem to handle not being with him, so I guess I'll try the other way." 

Taking a deep breath, Simon smiled and shook his head, his dark eyes clear. "You know when you first brought that boy in here and he started jabbering about the thin blue line, I knew he was going to be trouble." 

"I told him not to go with the blue line angle. He just never pays attention to anything I say." 

"Don't feel so special. He pretty much does what he wants most of the time with everybody." Simon took a deep puff and grew more serious. "I do hope you know what you're doing." 

"Not a clue." 

"Shit. I was just hoping." 

"Keep at it, because we're going to need help with this, Simon." Jim found himself searching for the right words, his voice rough and strained with unusual emotion. "You've been a big help already, a good friend. I have to thank you. I mean, you could've already had my ass if you'd wanted, both for the drinking and this thing with Blair. Let's face it, whether I want it to or not, once this comes out, it's not going to be easy." 

Simon sat very still and then slowly shifted forward in his chair, bracing his upper body with his elbows. "I'm not going to kid you, Jim. It was a close call about the drinking. Just be careful with that. As for you and Sandburg, you know how I feel about bigotry of any kind. I don't have to approve or condone anything to know it's not right to discriminate because of who a person loves. I think most of the younger officers around here feel that way. The older ones, or some of the folks in charge, well, they'd better get used to it. Things are changing. You've got the law on your side with this." 

"Ironic that you should put it that way." 

"Why's that?" 

"Some of the most hardass opponents to the whole thing are going to be some of the cops I'll deal with, not to mention the commissioner and DA. They've both made their positions on gay rights pretty clear." 

Simon's face tightened, his jaw twitching like Jim's twin. "God, it's hard to get used to that." 

"What?" 

"Thinking of you as gay." 

Jim gave a short snort, finished off his coffee, and stood up. "You think you have trouble getting used to the idea, try waking up in love with your best friend after being straight all your life. Let me tell you, Simon, it's a ball buster from God. I'm still not used to it either." 

The captain tilted his head, his face muscles twisted, puzzling out Jim's expression. "Jim, is it going to be a problem between the two of you? I mean, I just assumed you'd maybe had some experience or something." 

"Damn, Simon. You, too?" The words made his voice dark and unpleasant. "What is it? Do I have a sign on my back saying I must have done a guy because I was a soldier or worked vice?" 

"Jim, I didn't mean that." 

"No? Then what?" 

Raising his hand, frustrated and not wanting a fight, Simon tried to explain. "Look, we'd never discussed it, but I always thought that one of the problems you had in vice was your reputation about getting into the undercover scenes a little too easily." 

"I did my job, sir." The old anger seeped up slowly, welling up into his gut, his throat tightening up with the strain of controlling his reaction. 

"I know that. But being a hotshot in vice didn't come without jealousy and rumor. You had the highest arrest record, and with your butch, hardass attitude from the time, well, people just talked." 

"Fuck that, Simon. You know me better than that. I did what I had to, but I never, I repeat never, did anything in the gay scene. Hell, one of the reasons I left was because I couldn't handle it." He turned away and walked to the window, his hand to his mouth. He'd said too much, revealed more than he wanted even to himself. Simon moved to stand beside him. 

"Jesus, Jim. What do you mean you couldn't handle it?" 

"I'm not sure. I kept trying to tell myself that thinking about two men together having sex didn't bother me. But it wasn't true. Just thinking about it makes me really uneasy, so much so, I want to just close my eyes and not even think about it. I can't bring myself to think about it." 

"So, you're saying you've never even thought about being with Blair physically?" 

"I didn't say that." 

"What are you saying?" 

"I've thought about it, but it makes me very uncomfortable, like I'm not safe or something. I usually go out to the gym or come back to work so I don't have to think about that part." 

"I guess that explains the muscles and always being caught up with your casework." 

Jim shook his head as he wrapped his arms around his chest and held in the ache that swelled his breathing. "I'm not kidding here, Simon." 

"I can see that. I'm sorry, it's just that if you feel that way, how are you ever going to be with Blair in any kind of relationship?" 

"I love him as a person, but the physical part, I don't know. It's a problem." 

"No shit. Damn it, Jim. Have you told Blair how you feel about this?" 

"He knows I'm uncomfortable. He doesn't know why." 

Simon stopped talking, sat down on the edge of the table, his eyes focused entirely on Jim. His gravely voice sounded deeper, dragged down with hesitation. "Do you know why, Jim?" 

"I have my theories." 

"Should I ask you to share, or is it too personal? I'm your friend, Jim, but if this is something you should discuss with a doctor, you don't have to tell me." 

Jim took a deep, deciding breath. "You know how I repress things." 

"Didn't take being a detective to notice that, but yeah. Pretty scary." 

"Yeah, well, try it from this side of the curtain. It's like things happen to me, but then they don't. Time's missing from my memory, Simon. Peru, time with Lila, and that thing with Bud. But there's something else that happened, Simon. I don't remember it all, but lately I keep having these flashes." 

"Flashes? What kind of flashes?" 

"It's hard to explain, but when a repressed memory finally comes back, it doesn't usually come back all at once, but in bits and flashes. Lately I keep getting these images. Really disturbing images." He paused, swallowed, and found his voice more tense when he spoke again. "I keep feeling these hands where they shouldn't be. I'm a kid, about eight, I think, but I don't know. I do know the hands are a man's hands. And the smell. It's a man's smell." 

"Shit." 

"Yeah, well, I still don't remember it all. Might even be a dream, but I don't think so. It's too much like the other memories." 

"Do you think having these feelings for Blair might have triggered it?" 

"Maybe. At any rate, real or imagined, it's interfering with my ability to even think about being with another man physically." 

"Jesus, Jim. You know sometimes I think you're probably one of the most complicated people I've ever met. Now I know why." 

Jim met his friend's eyes, sad, but caring. "Why's that?" 

"You're the most damaged." 

"Damaged?" 

"Yeah, Jim. Damaged." 

The word clutched his gut, consticted his throat with a haunting fist shoved down from the past. He didn't want to think about the impact of the word. He couldn't, not when he knew how closely it fit, how hard it rubbed against the fragile scabs of memory. 

"I mean, with everything that's happened, I'm surprised you can even function, much less be successful. The thing is that if these flashes you're having are true, you're going to have to find a way to get over it. I mean, it wouldn't be fair to Sandburg or to you." 

"I know." Before he could continue, the phone rang. 

"Banks here. Yes, just a minute." He held the phone out. "Jim, it's for you. Says it's important. Someone called Alan Clark." 

"Shit." He snatched up the phone, the panic waking up, trying to choke off his air. "Ellison." 

"Detective Jim Ellison, Blair's room mate?" 

"Yes. What's wrong?" 

"It's Blair, man. He passed out. He didn't want to go to the hospital, but he hit his head and there was blood everywhere, you know. Plus, well, he was really out of it. Anyway, the ambulance just left. I thought I should call you." 

"Thanks. I'm on my way." He hung up the phone, starting for the door, all his reflexes set on high police efficiency. 

"Jim, what's going on?" 

"Blair's in the hospital." 

"I'll meet you there. Go." 

* * *

"Dr. Masters, how's my partner? What's going on?" Jim's tight lips spit out the questions quickly, hardly a breath to push them forward. 

"Detective Ellison. Captain Banks." Middle-aged, face twisted with mounting fatigue, the physician held out a motioning hand. "Let's go in here to talk." Once inside the cubicle, he directed them to sit down while he sat in a chair at an angle from theirs. "Gentlemen, we have a bit of a problem." 

"What's wrong?" Anxiety drenched Jim's skin with sweat, a sheen of oily mixture that slicked his overheated neck. 

"Jim, give the man a chance to speak. Settle down." 

"Look, Detective, I'm sorry, but I don't have all the answers yet. Right now I've got Mr. Sandburg scheduled for another MRI. We had to do some stitching on his forehead first and make sure he's alert enough to know what's going on." 

"How'd he hurt his forehead?" 

"According to the emergency workers, he hit it on the edge of the desk. Now, whether he passed out before or after he hit his head is what concerns me. Mr. Sandburg's not very clear on that." 

Jim shifted himself forward, still confused, the missing clues taunting him. "But why would he pass out before?" 

"That's the question. Personally I'm confused as to why he was even at work when this happened. When I released him last week, I thought I made it very clear about the resting and restricting work and exercise for at least ten days. He's obviously not been doing that, plus he was over medicated when he got here." 

"But he only took the prescriptions you told him to take." 

"Yes, and then some. Actually he doubled the dose on the pain meds apparently. Whether that was intentional or he forgot and took a second dose, he says he doesn't remember. That's another thing he's not clear about." 

Not even wanting to consider all the problems hooked up to that statement, he rushed ahead. "If he's taking so much pain medicine, why's he still hurting so much?" 

"Because he didn't give himself enough time, Detective. His back injuries were serious. I get the impression that Mr. Sandburg is the kind of person who normally tries to downplay his own condition, is that right?" 

"You could say that. He doesn't like to have anyone help him either." 

"Self-reliance can be useful at times, but he needs to be realistic. That kind of extensive tissue damage and swelling causing pressure on his nerves doesn't heal overnight. The medication was supposed to help ameliorate the pain to make him comfortable and let him heal while resting without over extending himself, NOT give him an excuse to do things before he was ready. I tried to be clear on that before I released him." 

Nodding while processing the information, Jim pushed harder for more. "So, okay, why another MRI? If he just stays in bed awhile longer, won't he get better?" 

"Hopefully, but what really concerns me is this level of pain is far too drastic, especially while on this medication. I'm afraid he may have ruptured a disk or pressure on the nerves has caused some other damage that's developed. I need the scan to rule out the possibilities. I have to warn you though, with back injuries like your partner's, sometimes we never find out the cause. We just have to treat the symptoms." 

"But he will recover?" 

"He should, but I'm going to have to insist Mr. Sandburg follow my strict instructions more closely. I want at least 3 days of complete bed rest, then a few more days of no lifting, bending, or stretching. No sitting or standing for long periods and certainly no major exercise. Did he ever use the heating pad and massage like I told him to? 

"I don't think so, no. He never told me about that." 

"That doesn't surprise me at this point. Well, after he's rested and the nerves aren't as sensitive, I want to get him into some physical therapy to help heal and strengthen those weakened muscles and tissues that help support his lower spine and surrounding nerves. He'll also need to learn the exercises he'll have to do on a regular basis until this all clears up. In the meantime, he's still in a lot of pain, and I need to find out why." 

"This sounds like it could go on for awhile." 

"He should be better in a few weeks. But, I've also known cases that have gone on months or longer. A lot depends on him being compliant as well as what we find in his results." 

Frustrated, but not willing to let his mind run screaming alone into the jungle just yet, Jim restrained his voice with unnatural calm. "So when can I see him?" 

"Not until after the tests and we have him settled in a room. I'm keeping him over night." 

"If all he needs is rest, he'd probably do better at home." 

"Detective, your partner came in here barely conscious and totally confused. I still don't know if that was the result of drugs, his previous or current head injury, or a combination. Until I'm sure, he's staying here where I can closely monitor his condition. I take pride in my work and I don't like it when my patients keep coming back worse off than when they left." 

"It doesn't thrill me much either." 

"Your Mr. Sandburg is turning into a personal challenge, Detective. If he wants to get better, he needs to follow my instructions and understand that I know what I'm doing. He can't just take pain meds to numb the problem and go on doing everything like normal before he was injured. It's not going to work like that. He'll only hurt himself more in the long run." 

"Have you told him this?" 

"Yes, and I'm telling you so you can tell him, too. Then, I plan to tell him again when he's more alert and, hopefully, ready to listen." 

"Sort of like a tag team approach?" 

"Whatever it takes, Detective. I get the feeling he's going to be more willing to listen if we both come at him in a united front." 

Jim gave a grim smile as he nodded. "Oh, he'll listen, Dr. Masters, I guarantee that." The tone's sharp edge sliced the air. Before the physician could comment, he talked quietly, the steely tone dangerous. "When can I see him?" 

"It'll be a few more hours. I'll send a nurse out after I've had a chance to make sure he's oriented completely and resting." 

As soon as the doctor left the room, Jim stood and walked to the nearest window. Teeth clamped shut, jaw twitching like crazy, he wanted to scream and put his fist through the triple thick plate glass. Every muscle in his body rebelled from the abuse of tension, screaming to release the pressure with just one quick punch. 

"Jim?" 

"I hate this, Simon." 

"I'm sure Blair's not having a good time either." 

Whirling, anger fueled his speech, each word a firestorm. "Why does he do this? This whole last week, he wouldn't fucking stop. I'd come home and instead of resting, he'd be at the computer. I swear to god, he even went out and got groceries, like I couldn't bother to do that, like he had to keep doing it all. What the fuck's wrong with him that he can't let me take care of him until he's well? Now look. He's back where he started, only worse. I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do here. Kick his sorry ass or kiss him. Stupid bastard." 

After a few long moments, Simon, his arms crossed and head tilted, asked. "Feel better?" 

"No. I'm still pissed as hell." 

"Well, don't show that to Sandburg, at least not yet. The doctor doesn't paint a very pleasant picture." 

"No. I knew something wasn't right. I should've strapped him down or something. This morning he couldn't even get his shirt on without freezing up in pain. It was awful." 

The rage worn away, ground from his body, he found fear in its place. "God, Simon. He's going to be miserable. Even if it weren't for the pain, imagine Blair forced to stay quiet even longer." 

"It's beyond me, Jim. The kid can't stay still for an hour." 

"He's going to go nuts. That's why he screwed up this time. He just couldn't help himself. Even with the pain he had to keep pushing. I'm to blame, too, though." 

"How's that?" 

"I just let him do it. I figured as long as he kept going, he must be getting better. He told me it hurt worse, but I didn't want to believe it." 

Simon stepped closer, his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Jim, listen, you can be there to help him, but he's going to have to get through this by deciding to either follow doctor's orders or suffer some more. Maybe this thing this morning will finally convince him." 

"I still hate it, seeing him in pain. God, it rips me up inside that I can't do anything but watch. He pushes me away any time I try to do things. He won't tell me why, but he absolutely hates when I have to help him." 

"Is that so hard to understand? I can see how Blair would equate dependence with weakness. In your eyes especially he wants to be considered an equal. If you're having to help him do the most simple and basic things, I'd think that would make him feel like you might see him as needy." 

"But, Simon, I love him. I'd never feel that way." 

"All the more reason he doesn't want to be a burden. Jim, think about it. Blair's always the one helping other people. For whatever the reasons, switching the role must make him feel uncomfortable if not downright useless. Doesn't mean it's true, but it doesn't change the feelings." 

"Yeah?" Jim rubbed his chin, his mind rewinding, reviewing memories. After a few minutes, he nodded, the rightness of his captain's words clicking into place. "I never really thought about it like that, but with Blair that's very possible, Simon. I hate to say this, but you could make a pretty good shrink if this police deal doesn't work out." 

"Shrink, Captain. Same thing some days, especially with you and Sandburg around. Now, come on. It's going to be a hell of a long day and I've got to get some coffee." 

"You know you really drink a lot of that stuff, Captain. Ever thought about cutting back?" 

Withering glance not withstanding, Simon just shook his head. "Can't afford to, Jim. Might fall asleep and miss all the drama you bring into my life. Besides we all have out little vices. I have coffee, you have Sandburg. Coffee's safer." 

"Good point, sir." 

"You've got that right." 

* * *

Walking into the hospital room, Jim heard the heartbeat increase as he stepped closer to the bed. He'd aimed to tear into his partner, but before he could even speak, Blair started. "I am like so stupid, Jim. I'm sorry, man." 

So much for lambasting. "Jesus, Blair, what were you thinking?" 

"Guess I wasn't." Turning his head to face Jim, the bandage on his forehead covered the right side. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, the bruised color blended into the new growth of whiskers greying his skin. "I just wanted to get back to work, man, just pretend like none of this shit ever happened." 

"But why the hurry, Chief? You were in pain. Didn't that tell you something?" 

"Yeah, that I'm a dumbfuck. I still can't seem to get past the idea that the whole accident was my fault." 

Reaching down, Jim took his partner's hand. He loved holding it, the weight a solid connection, a physical anchor to all that mattered. "I thought we talked about this already. You saved Sam's life. I mean, that's how you messed up your back so badly, trying to get her from the car before it exploded. Damn it, Chief, you did everything you could. You could've both been killed." 

Gripping back, the pressure reassuring and strong, Blair nodded slightly. His voice still sounded unconvinced. "I know we could both be dead, Jim. I think about that a lot, but I still keep wondering how I could have handled it differently." 

"There was nothing to handle, Blair. It was a fucking accident." 

Making eye contact, the younger man looked puzzled. "Why are you so pissed?" 

"I'm upset because I could've lost you. Accidents are the reminder that none of us have any guarantees. You kiss someone good bye in the morning and hours later they could be dead or in the hospital. You've got no control over any of it. That pisses me off, Chief." 

"I know, that control thing again, huh?" Squeezing his hand harder, Blair spoke more softly. "Jim, I am like really sorry for putting you through all this. The accident was bad enough, but this was just stupid. I hate it when you have to worry." 

"Join the club, Chief. God, you've just got to stop doing this shit before you make me crazy." 

"I swear I don't do it on purpose." 

"I know, but could you at least do me a favor and TRY to do what the doctor tells you this time? I really want you to stop hurting." 

"I'm down with that, man. Pain is so not my deal." 

Lifting his guide's hand to his lips, Jim kissed each knuckle. "Chief, do you have any idea how much I love you?" The words drifted thick and warm like honey over fresh bread on a cozy morning. 

"I think so." 

Jim stared into the rounded blue eyes, still slightly less bright than usual. His heart pinched at the vision and the knowledge that he needed this man more than anything or anyone else in his life. It both amazed and terrified him. 

"Well, think harder, Chief. I can't bear the thought of ever losing you. Having all this happen only makes me want to hold you that much closer. I never once in my life ever thought I'd ever say this, but if you can't get better for yourself, do it for me. I need you. I can't stand it when you hurt." 

"Damn, Jim, you're just such a selfish bastard, man." The twist of a grin curled the tired edges of his mouth. 

"You bet. Selfish enough to want you alive, healthy, and all to myself." 

Finally smiling, Blair pulled Jim's hand and body a little closer, his voice rich and husky. "And I'm selfish enough to let you have me." He kissed his partner's cheek and then rubbed it lightly, the heat searing like a brand. "I love you, Jim. No matter what, never forget that." 

Jim pulled back, his eyes checking the serious expression now facing him. "No matter what? What's that supposed to mean, Chief?" 

"Jim, I know I do stupid shit from time to time, but I'm not really so dumb that I can't figure out that this whole thing between us scares you to death." 

"That's not true. I love you." 

"I know you love me, Jim. I get that, but, in a way, this whole back business has been a blessing to you, admit it." 

"What?" Jim jerked his hand away, standing straight up, both hands braced on the side rail. "What the fuck are you talking about? You think I want you to suffer? What the hell kind of talk is that?" 

"Settle down, man. I didn't mean it like that?" 

"How the hell did you mean it?" 

"When you touch me lately, I feel it." 

"What?" 

"Your fear. You can't help it, man. We haven't really talked about it much, but it pretty obvious that the gay sex thing scares you shitless. Me being hurt just lets us both hide from that." 

Swallowing hard, Jim turned away. The intensity of his partner's stare, the searching glances, the awareness of his terror at revelation, all played to feed more fear. Blair knew. He could see it, and yet he still kept looking. "I don't want you to suffer, Blair. Don't ever think that." 

"I didn't think you did, man. It's just convenient that's all. Whatever you're hiding, Jim, I need to know about it. Maybe I can help." 

"I can't, Chief. Not right now anyway. When you're better and out of the hospital, but I can't do it right now. Not here." 

"Okay, man. I just wanted you to know that I knew what you were doing. I mean, we can work through it as long as we don't try to play games and pretend it's not there between us." 

Jim nodded agreement and slowly turned back around, fully aware that Blair's focus never wavered. "I'm sorry, Chief. It's not you, it's me. I just get ambushed by these images sometimes. I want to be with you, completely with you. I'm just not sure how to do that and not be overwhelmed." 

"I know." Reaching up his hand again, the two men interlaced their fingers. Jim stood there drinking in the connection, his link to a better world, a peaceful place both inside himself and outside, directed at the mere touch of another. Thinking about it too much made him dizzy, so he changed the subject. 

"So, has Dr. Masters told you anything more?" 

"Only that there's still major inflammation, but no ruptures. Guess that's why I keep getting spasms. He gave me a big old badass list of rules, too. God, he was pissed something awful. I didn't think doctors were supposed to do that." 

"What, get pissed?" 

"No, pull an Ellison." 

"Just keep it up, Sandburg." 

Blair did a quick glance down at his lap and shook his head, a naughty grin on his face. "Nope. Sorry, no luck today, man. You'll just have to wait." 

Jim smiled and for the first time in awhile, he didn't dread moving forward. In fact, the path through the jungle suddenly hacked into his vision, clear and leading into a future with both true love and meaning. Wild things stayed hidden, lurking in the branches, chittering anxiously up from the underbrush, but never inching nearer. With Blair as his guide and eternal companion, he'd find his way to the ancient carved stones surrounding the promised garden, the blissful dwelling he always imagined. He spied a lush haven where someday he could enter with his soul's exquisite partner, both safe and protecting. The growl mated with purring called him from a distance and his own primal answer stirred within him. 

The End 


End file.
